"These vallies shall ring with the triumph of hosts!
The signals shall flash—and the thousands obey!
Bards, Heroes, they hear me—they flow from their
coasts —
Proud hill of Lisgreny! thou'lt triumph that day.
Echo will forward the beat of our drum.
What chiefs in the hearts of our mountains 'twill fire!
O'Brien of Ara,4 exulting will come,
And Charles the bridesman bless—Sheela na Guire.
"When to Erin was whispered the name of her spouse.
The laugh of her heart5 over Europe was heard;
In Spain 'twas received with a kindred carouse,
And in France and in Italy gladly declared.
The homes, that our fathers—our childhood endeared,
That our memories cling to with pining desire,
Shall be ours—ours again—and the brave will be heard,
The long exiled brave—cheering Sheela na Guire.
